For the First Seven Nights, the Dead Kowtowed to Me

If someone calls someone by name, they should follow. Xu Wen had memorized the rules of the wake at the age of seven. Grandpa only taught him to do as he was told and never told him why. Until the first seven nights. In the uncovered coffin, the dead man sat up and kowtowed three times to him: "Bring me your name." Before dawn, his name was added to the "filial son" column of the elegiac couplet. Four rules can be found on the offender's account: Do not light an even number of lamps, do not respond to the sound of grinding ink, do not eat three animals, and a filial son must kneel for an hour. Smoking guns, glasses, and steel coins also stumbled in through the same threshold. After further investigation, I found out: Thirty years ago, the ferry sank. Seven people boarded the boat and six survived. Those six names disappeared from the world overnight. Someone is collecting names. The name is both a guide and a debt. He has the stupidest mouth, but he has to call out the names of a group of people who can't name them one by one. Suitable for: vigil. Don't: Look back.